The summon for Death
by m-is-for-MollyMansfieldMealing
Summary: "It's hard being me. Being the one thing everyone fears was bad enough, but being someone that some want to meet so badly; it breaks my heart." Death isn't just the end of a life you know...


**Just an idea I had earlier :) It's inspired by Markus Zusak's "The Book Theif", try and guess why XD Please review with your thoughts! -Sophie x**

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><p>It was on that cold, winter night that I was drawn to her home. As I approached, I noticed the house wasn't adorned with flashing lights, or fat men in sleighs. No, it was as plain and as simple as could be expected; it had four walls, four windows, a roof and a door.<p>

But it lay home to our not-so-simple story.

The wind whirled around me as I drew closer, the bitter breeze like an insolent child. Persistent and sharp, it followed me up the forlorn, deserted driveway that twinkled with frost, until I reached the spotless black door, looking naked compared to its jolly, wreath coated neighbours.

With no need to knock, I simply entered her house, with nothing to announce my arrival other than the instant dropping of the temperature, and the dark atmosphere that suffocated everything it touched. Slowly and silently, I made my way through her hallway, passing two pairs of shoes as I did so. One pair of sleek black heels, almost as dark as some horrors that settled themselves in this world. One pair of child's pink trainers, a true picture of the innocence that would soon be lost, as quick as the deed itself would be done.

I reached the living room door, ready for the final show to begin.

Our star of the show lay crumpled in the corner, a shadow of her former self, crumped in a heap that resembled nothing but a pile of sadness.

Sadness. Such a light term for such a heavy feeling.

Our woman had a heart once warm and joyous, but now as cold as the ice that was forming on her window panes. It had turned black, black like the darkness that encompassed the world at night, with no light, no future, no love. She no longer had the capability to care. For her, for her daughter and the owner of the innocent pink trainers, or for her life and what will happen to it once she seals her fate.

I made my way over to her. Sombrely, slowly, silently, giving her a final few seconds to leave a little something for those who find her. Her hot, salty tears left glistening streams down her freckled cheeks, making her eyes redden as if they were embarrassed to be caught showing weakness.

I prepared myself, watching as she gathered the necessary items to help her find peace once again. She felt the sharp instrument that lay in her hand, shuddering with pleasure as the coolness of the metal enticed her skin, drawing it closer and closer.

I rolled my sleeves up and rubbed my hands together, opening the bag I keep with me at all times.

She moved into position, sitting up on the floor and placed the folded piece of paper next to her. It detailed her reasoning, her immense apologies and her dying wish for forgiveness.

Then, it was time.

Slowly but surely, her shaking hand moved to her neck, feeling heavier and heavier with every little raise of that all-important limb. The woman smiled tiredly, resting her head back so her long brown curls tumbled about her shoulders and fell down her spine. The knife glinted in the light from the half open window as it made contact with her skin.

She took a final, deep breath, and in one swift movement, she dragged it across the soft flesh of her neck, feeling the soft drip of warm blood, before her hand fell limp at her side, and the knife tumbled onto her lap, staining her clothes with a scarlet sign of death.

Solemnly, I placed my hands over her peaceful body, and felt her heat radiate as I took the remaining life she had. I placed it in my bag and turned, pulling my black hood over my face.

It was hard, being me. Being the one thing everyone fears was bad enough, but being someone that some want to meet so badly; it breaks my heart, to know that this world holds the power to push people to their limits, so much so that I am drawn from war and world poverty, to people who should have had a long and healthy life.

I made my departure, leaving her silent and alone in the corner of her living room, ready to be found by someone the next day. I went out into the cool night air, moving up towards the soft blanket that lay the world to rest. The stars twinkled gently as I moved towards that lone, yet brightest gem- the ever lasting memory of Connie Beauchamp.


End file.
